MOVIE REVIEW: Boxing biopic 'Chuck' is too much of a lightweight

Friday

May 12, 2017 at 6:00 AM

The “true-life” story of New Jersey leg breaker turned liquor salesman Chuck Wepner, aka The Bayonne Bleeder, is the source material for what would become the Oscar-wiining film, “Rocky.” But this biopic has been turned into a biohazard through the use of re-creation instead of penetration in taking the measure of a man's tumultuous life.

By Al Alexander/For The Patriot Ledger

They call it prize fighting, but “Chuck,” a boxed-in boxing fable, ain’t much of a prize. It’s the “true-life” story of New Jersey leg breaker turned liquor salesman Chuck Wepner, aka The Bayonne Bleeder, the hemorrhaging hero of the white working class who earned his 15 rounds of fame when on March 24, 1975, he came within 19 seconds of “going the distance” with the greatest fighter of all time, Muhammad Ali. Watching at home that night was a former guest star on Wepner’s favorite TV show, “Kojak”; a middling actor named Sylvester Stallone.

Inspired by what he just witnessed, Stallone walked over to the typewriter in his modest New York City apartment and punched out the screenplay that would become “Rocky.” It was a three-Oscar knockout. Stallone made millions and punched his ticket to Hollywood; while Wepner didn’t collect a dime and punched his ticket to Palookaville. Great story, right? Wrong! At least not in the hands of Canadian director Philippe Falardeau (“The Good Lie”) and a trio of writers, all of whom fall into the trap of turning a biopic into a biohazard by using re-creation instead of penetration in taking the measure of a man’s tumultuous life.

“Chuck” is a virtual tick-tock of Wepner’s rise from street fighter to New Jersey heavyweight champion to improbable world title contender culminating in that famous showdown with Ali. Nowhere is there any attempt to delve beneath the wannabe’s thinning mane of long, stringy hair. It’s all surface. That he was a selfish philanderer, a braggadocio, a complete screw-up totally lacking in self-awareness. But WHY was he this way? Falardeau just isn’t interested. He’s more into re-creating the 1970s with a disco-heavy soundtrack and lots of gritty, washed-out bar scenes that scream blue-collar. And, of course, those hideous clothes, from leisure suits to baby-blue baby doll nightgowns.

He even apes early Scorsese movies by having Wepner (channeled through Liev Schrieber’s game performance) narrate his own story with excessive voiceovers that make him sound like the Henry Hill of fisticuffs. But these are no goodfellas; they’re dullfellas. Scheiber at least gives it a fighting chance, but the role is too much like his alter-ego, Ray Donovan, right down to Wepner’s bad-boy behavior. Elisabeth Moss and Schreiber’s live-in co-star, Naomi Watts, also possess moments of fleeting brilliance as Wepner’s wives, but the rest of the cast, including Jim Gaffigan as the best friend, Michael Rapaport as the estranged brother and Ron Perlman as the deranged manager, are right out of central casting. And in the case of Morgan Spector as Stallone and Brockton’s Pooch Hall as Ali, they’re utterly laughable. You know you’re in trouble when Anthony Quinn gives the best performance, occasionally popping up in scenes from Chuck’s favorite movie, Rod Serling’s “Requiem for a Heavyweight,” a story that eerily matches Wepner’s.

Further sinking the film’s arena-sized aspirations is indecision on what “Chuck” is supposed to be. Is it a satire? A cautionary tale? A story of a guy whose life is usurped and exploited by Hollywood without compensation? At times, “Chuck” is all of these. Yet, it ends up saying nothing. It flails and flails until collapsing in a heap without ever landing a punch. To paraphrase Terry Malloy: It coulda been a contender. It coulda been something, instead of a bummer. But a bummer is all it is. CHUCK (R for language throughout, drug use, sexuality/nudity and some bloody images.) Cast includes Liev Schreiber, Jim Gaffigan, Elisabeth Moss, Naomi Watts, Ron Perlman, Michael Rapaport, Pooch Hall and Morgan Spector. Grade: C.